


Tricks and Treats

by Prestidigitations



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prestidigitations/pseuds/Prestidigitations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's family is about to lose their magic and he's all out of options; he might as well accept the Spirit of Halloween's help, or, you know, his hand in marriage, whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Unexpected Post

**Author's Note:**

> Silly spoopy Halloween fic based on a dream I had, please feel free to let me know if you see anything wrong or just want to comment, thanks!

The letter came innocuously and completely unexpectedly one misty autumn morning.

He found it taped to his door on his way into work- early as always- and didn’t give it a second thought except to tuck it into his knapsack for safe keeping before mounting his bike to make his speedy way ten minutes up the road to the elementary school where he worked.

Its only hours later during lunch when he’d dug in his bag for change for the vending machine in the teacher’s lounge that it even occurred to him that waking up to a letter taped to your front door was a little unusual and he carefully pulled it out to inspect it.

The first thing he noticed was that it looked surprisingly official for something someone haphazardly taped to his front screen. The second is that it was addressed to his mother and made of a soft thick material that could only be parchment.

Curious, he opened the envelope and took out the letter. He read it several times before setting it down on the table and taking a swig of his coke to steady his suddenly thready nerves.

It read:

_Dame Sarah Rogers, hedgewitch:_

_It has come the attention of the Council that your son/ward/charge **Steven G. Rogers** has not been registered with the appropriate governing bodies and is currently practicing outside of the confines of the suitable heavens and appointed safe zones for minor acts of ensorcement._

_According to our sources, said charge has lived among mortals the entirety of their life and has never shown any inclination of channeling/practicing the Craft in what this council feels is an apposite or safe manner of conduct._

_It is therefore with the heaviest of hearts that we regretfully inform you that your family is up for review and regulation and that your privileges to the Craft may be subject to revocation. Please respond to this missive at your earliest convenience. If you’ve received this in error you need not respond._

_Yours in fellowship,_

_The Office of Practical Magics and Minor Sorcery, Buffalo, New York._

“Well,” said Steven G Rogers, 3rd grade art teacher and- to his knowledge- non-practicing hedgewitch. “Shit.”


	2. Look at your choices

Steve liked to think he was a simple man with few needs.

After graduating from College a few years before with an Fine Arts major and a minor in Early Childhood Development he’d done the sensible thing and moved from his home in the bustling metropolis of New York to a sleepy small town near his university that was happy to hire him despite his tattoos and dyed hair and settled into the small town life of teaching elementary school with little fuss and few problems.

The letter sort of knocked him sideways.

He knew his mother was a witch, he supposed his father must’ve been as well, or whatever the word was for others who practiced magic outside his mother’s arts, (‘Wizard’ seemed a bit too Harry Potter and ‘warlock’ sounded like something from a table-top game) but that had never been at the forefront of his mind.

It wasn’t like she spent her days doubled over a cauldron cackling and quoting Macbeth; she was nurse, she’d pulled long, hard shifts after his dad died to put food on the table. It was something she was more than something she did, having no more bearing on their day to day lives than their Irish blood.

Really, the only thing vaguely resembling magic in their house was the garden she grew on their fire-escape that he’d never seen her water and the fact that on rare occasions she could ask a cat to carry a message for her to their upstairs neighbours or across the street to his best friend Peggy’s mother and the cat would do it.

All the same, he knew it was important to her and somehow he’d gone and done something horrible and messed everything up.

Not that he had any idea _how_ mind you; Steve hadn’t really inherited much of the Craft as it was called, not that he or his mother could tell. After his father had been killed in one of her people’s many, bloody wars she’d decided enough was enough and raised him well away from all things magical when it was clear he showed no trace of the Gift and would not need any specialized schooling.

Personally, Steve thought the vague and ominous letter threatening to punish them for some transgression he’d somehow unwittingly committed was kind of bullshit. It was probably to be expected though; his mother told him that the people who regulated magic were known to be overbearing and pedantic about what qualified as a break of their laws.

He himself didn’t personally know much about that having kept his affairs on the human side of things, Silverside, as they liked to call it basically from birth. Witches like his mother and other creatures of their ilk conducted their affairs in mythical Mirrorside; rarely did the two meet as the results were typically disastrous and ended up involving things like fire and genocide.

 This definitely seemed like an overreaction though.

He pondered over the letter and what it would mean for him and his mom if he just decided to ignore it. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to do by the time school ended and he’d packed up to go home.

He reached the parking lot and shooed away the high school kids who always came by to admire the glossy red and white beauty of the bike that was his only patriarchal family heirloom distractedly.

Normally he was a bit kinder, the vintage Harley-Davidson parked in the lot may have been one of the only tangible things his dad had left him besides bills, but she was one hell of a going away present and everyone loved to look at her.

Today he really couldn’t find the energy to joke around with the kids who hung around and instead waved them off as he hopped on and sped for home.

Home was a beat up old Spartan travel trailer Steve had fallen in love with at a salvage-yard he used to bike past in his university days and had purchased right after college.

He wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight but his battered old girl and him had to be as close to true love as it got.

 It had taken him nearly six years to save up the money he needed to buy and restore her and if he was honest with himself it’d likely take another six years before he was done with everything he wanted to do. Every other weekend was spent prying something up inside or else knocking something down or heading into town for paint and primer.

 As it stood now she was the most perfect and beautiful thing in his life beside his bike and he wasn’t afraid to admit that to anyone.

His friends had gotten her polished for his birthday and she gleamed like a silver dollar in the weak autumn light tucked into the heart of a garden that had sprung up organically around her in bits and pieces over the years that he’d let go to seed and grow wild around her.

What little he’d inherited of his mother’s gifts was most evident in its resplendence, since it bloomed beautifully despite his negligence.

Honeysuckle trailed along his makeshift iron fence- cobbled together from interesting twisty bits of metal he’d welded into panels when he’d been entertaining the thought of someday getting a dog- Roses spilled out of their beds and climbed along the side of the trailer their scent rich and sweet when the wind blew it in through his windows in the summer.

Lavender and poppies tangled together along what had once been well maintained paths that led to the koi-pond he’d installed near the back that held three overgrown comet goldfish and was choked with lilies.

Wildflowers of all kind blossomed in and along the beds and herbs grew savage in their pots and patches. As he closed his gate behind him he felt a deep pang of sadness knowing that soon he might not be able to sustain the haphazard elegance of it all.

Without the gift, the garden would die.

He hurried inside and set his bags down by the basket he left by the door as a catch-all and went into the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea.

The trailer inside was bright and airy and smelled faintly of paint from both his renovation projects and the second bedroom he’d converted into a studio and office.

Most of his furniture was shabby but sturdy and hand-made adding to what his other best friend Sam called the ‘hipster-chic aesthetic’ of the whole place. The walls were slate and periwinkle, but that was subject to change as every other month he grew tired of the colours and changed them.

His bedroom at the back was tiny, his bathroom even more so, but his kitchen more than made up for it by being the second largest space in the house besides the studio, a good thing too since he liked to cook and often needed the counter space to do it.

Once he’d settled inside and had taken off his work clothes he took out the letter and tried to decide a course of action.

The first thing he did was panic.

The second was call his mother.

He paced the length of his home and puttered around in his kitchen while he waited for her to pick up the phone and tried not to work himself into an asthma attack.

It’d been five years since he moved out and left the crowded urban streets of his home in Brooklyn behind and since then he hadn’t really been back to see her except on the holidays and the stab of guilt when she finally picked up and he heard her familiar breathy ‘Stevie’ down the line was sudden and a little overwhelming.

“Hey Ma,” he mumbled tracing idly at the lines of the tattoo on his left wrist in nervous habit. “How’re you?” He’d trained himself out of the habit of calling his mom to tell her the moment something went wrong but that’d been a near thing and he could admit that just having her on the line still made him feel calmer, more centered.

Sarah Rogers gave a quiet account of her day while Steve hummed along and cleaned his paint brushes to the comforting murmur of her voice while he waited for the kettle to come to a boil; the soothing whisper of it was enough to quiet his jangled nerves.

“Are you’re alright sweetheart?” his mother asked after a few moments, “You seem tense.” He bit at his lips and considered his options. He wanted to tell her what’d happened but now that he was calmer it seemed foolish to worry her without reason. This could all just be some sort of misunderstanding after all.

“It’s nothin’ ma,” he said after a while. “‘Just miss you more than usual I guess.” It wasn’t untrue. He heard her huff a quiet laugh down the line and imagined her at the kitchen window of their dingy little apartment tending to the herbs she’d stubbornly grown there his whole life and smiled.

“Alright then, keep your secrets then,” she replied easily. “I hope you’re alright though, really; you’d tell me if you weren’t wouldn’t you?”

“‘Course Ma,” he replied. “It’s nothin’ serious I promise.” She hummed skeptically and told him about how the flowers were coming in in their planter boxes on the fire escape and he replied with small talk of his own.

It wasn’t until he was done with his conversation with his mother that he’d decided on a course of action.

 He drank practically the entire kettle of tea for his nerves, looked over his lesson plans, neatened his studio, and when he couldn’t find anything else to put it off anymore he sat heavily in his favourite chair in the living room by the wood burning stove he’d liberated from an old house upstate and called his best friend Peggy.

“Hey Pegs,” he said as soon as he heard her familiar lilt on the line. “If I wanted to get into Mirrorside, how would I do that?”

 


	3. Mirrorside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to let me know if there's anything off, or just what you think. Things are picking up a bit now, I'll post the council hearing when I get home from work.

Steve asked his friend Sam to drive him into New York when the weather turned ugly over the weekend.

He looked at the gathering storm front that rumbled and darkened over the city and tried not to feel a sense of foreboding.

Sam had taken one look at Steve’s face when he got in his car, turned on the radio, and hadn’t asked a single thing the entire drive up, making silly, pointless conversation to distract him instead.

Steve and Sam met Steve’s first year of teaching when he was overwhelmed and out of his depth and the literal talk of their tiny town.

Having retired from military service years prior and moved there to teach PE at the high school across the street, Sam had done the entire song and dance before him, and had come over one night bearing beer and tips to make it out alive. Steve, new to small town living, lesson planning, and having people pay him what he felt was an unusual amount of attention gratefully invited him into his life and really never looked back.

Sam didn’t seem to care that Steve kept entirely to himself and lived across town in the middle of nowhere. He refused to indulge in any of the town gossip and didn’t ask him too many questions. Their friendship was one of the most important things Steve had his life and he was very thankful for him (and his truck) in situations like these.

“So, I am I dropping you off at your mom’s place?” Sam asked trying very hard not to pry but obviously very VERY curious. Steve hardly ever went into the city anymore except on the occasions when he came at Peggy’s request or to visit his mother on holidays. Asking to visit in the middle of the school year was highly unusual and he could tell Sam was dying to know the reason but was too polite to ask.

“I gotta go to Peggy’s first,” Steve replied staring out the window at the familiar passing shops and rubbing absently at his wrist. “I’ll see my mom later.” Sam turned briefly to give him a long, searching look and then shrugged

“Whatever man, I’ll be at my sister’s place all weekend, text me if you need anything,” he relied. Steve nodded and they lapsed back into silence.

Steve waited for the inevitable and had to look out the window to stop from sighing when Sam finally parked his car in front of Peggy’s apartment and turned towards him radiating concern.

“Look man,” Sam said, “If something’s wrong, you know you can talk to me right?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” Steve asked coming off a bit more defensive than he wanted and wincing internally about it. Sam gave him an unimpressed look and pointed to the hand he had circling his other wrist.

“You ask to come see Peggy out of nowhere- she won’t say why and neither will you- and you trace that pumpkin all the way here?” he replied, “Don’t insult me Steve, I know when shit not’s right.” Steve immediately pulled his hand away from his wrist and looked ruefully down at the grinning face of the Jack-o-lantern tattooed there. He cursed himself for having such a loud and obvious tell.

Aside from his mother’s name on the family tree he had tattooed across his ribs it was his only colour tattoo and it stood out amidst the mass of grey and black that made up the rest of his sleeves. It was pretty obvious when he messed with it.

Sam was waiting for him to say something looking worried and Steve looked over and was about to think up something suitable for cover when Peggy rapped sharply on the glass startling them both.

“Gentlemen,” she purred when Steve rolled down the window to scowl at her. “So good of you to make it, I’ve only been waiting all morning.” Steve flicked her off and she laughed and leaned through the window to peck him on the cheek before giving Sam a warm, fond glance.

“Wilson,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for driving him here.” Steve took advantage of Sam’s flirty reply to gather his things and slide out of the cab. He grinned and saluted him and assured him he would find his own way out of the city and he and Peggy watched him drive away in silence.

Once he was safely away Steve relaxed and spun to face her.

“Thanks for that,” he said smiling at Peggy who smirked and shrugged.

“What’s one petty distraction between old friends?” she replied. “Come inside; let’s see this letter of yours.”

Peggy had converted her mother’s old flower shop into a café; she lived just above it in the same apartment she’d lived in all their lives and trudging up the familiar stairs into the neat, fancy space filled him a rush of nostalgia.

Steve had spent half his life this apartment. He and Peggy had been inseparable as children; they were the only two kids on the block with Mythic parents and had been so different. Steve, tiny and frail and wheezy in a way that made people instinctively uncomfortable and Peggy, wild and savage with an accent and affectation that had made her hard to relate to. It was easy to see why they’d fallen in together.

Unlike Steve, Peggy had inherited far more than just her mother’s affinity of spells and rumour was she dealt in rather important affairs in Mirrorside these days. She didn’t say much to Steve about them, partly because she didn’t want him to worry and partly because there wasn’t anything he could about it, but he was glad to see her doing so well. She’d always had a taste for danger, they both did.

He collapsed across her couch and tossed her his bag. She caught it deftly and tugged out the letter as she wandered away to make tea and Steve pulled a pillow over his head like he had many times as a teenager and moaned into the upholstery.

“How fucked are we?” he mumbled when she came back with the letter tucked behind her ear and two steaming mugs of tea in her hands.

“It’s pretty serious I’m afraid,” she said grimly, “You’re unaware of this, being so removed from our community, but letters like these have gone out all over Mirrorside.”

“Yeah?” Steve said sitting up to reach for a mug. “What happens when people get them?” Peggy sat down opposite of him and pulled the letter out of her hair.

“Those who answer the summons are typically called before the council,” she explained, “All mythics are allowed a hearing, but really it’s just for show. They’re taking the magic Steve, all of it that they can, it’s been a madhouse, witches are fleeing to escape the persecution and they’re turning on their friends- the treaties of the six dominions hang by a thread- it’s like they want to start another war.” She sighed and blew on her tea to cool it. “We’re doing what we can, but I wanted to warn you what you’re about to step into.”

“I thought the council was created expressly to prevent that from happening,” Steve frowned. The last war had gone on for something like fifty years and had left Mirrorside scarred in ways his mother couldn’t put into words without shaking, never mind the fact that it had cost him his father. “And what do you mean ‘we’re doing what we can’? Who’s ‘we’?”

Peggy shook her head and Steve sighed loudly to tell her what he thought about all of the secrets between them these days.

“Fine.” he huffed, “Don’t answer that then. Are they really going to take my mom’s magic? They can’t can they? M’not even doing what they say I’m doing! I don’t _have_ any magic, I’m practically Silver.”

“I know that Steve,” Peggy said gently, “You might have more of a case than the others given that you haven’t inherited your mother’s craft; there’s no basis for these accusations. I’ll take you to answer the summons and we’ll see what they say. Unfortunately it’s all we can do at the moment.” 

“Thanks Peg,” Steve sighed. Peggy stood and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Chin up darling, let me change into something more Mirror-appropriate and we’ll be our way,” she said heading towards her room. “Try to keep civil with the council won’t you? Remember what’s at stake.” Steve bit at his lips and got up to follow her.

It was still strange to him sometimes going into what had once been her parent’s room and laying on her bed. Just another reminder of how things were changing here, while he was away. 

Peggy ran her hand across her selection of dresses, asking Steve’s opinion on this or that while he lay on his back on her sheets and offered council.

“Did you bring anything else to wear?” She asked as she slipped out of her top and finally made a choice. Steve shook his head.

“No, should I have?” he asked. He didn’t really see a point in trying to blend in. He had always been unwelcome in Mirrorside and he was proud of his silver upbringing. “It’s not like it’ll help my case any will it?”

Peggy shrugged elaborately, not a habit she would ever indulge in public but one she had always felt safe sharing with Steve. The gesture dislodged one of the sleeves of her dress and revealed the barest hint of the delicate red and black knot work on the rowan tree he’d tattooed across her shoulders when they were drunk and stupid one night at his dorm room.

A copy of it hung above her bed in oils, lovingly rendered for her birthday to protect her from evil. Steve rolled over to regard it. He felt the usual twinge of embarrassment he always felt for his past work and wondered if he could convince her to let him replace it.

“Now you stop that,” she chided as she strode back into the room already guessing at what he was up to, “its lovely, don’t glare at it like it’s killed your dog, I wouldn’t have let you stab it into my back if I didn’t appreciate it.” She finished getting dressed, checked her make-up, fussed over his hair for a moment and locked down the shop and they bundled themselves up and started down the street towards one of the gates to Mirrorside.

Mirrorside wasn’t so much a place as it was a nation tucked in and folded around the nooks and crannies of human life; patches of it existed everywhere if you knew what you were looking for. Goblin markets and faerie revels and herbs shops and werewolf dens spanned the length of the city existing side by side with bookshops and schools and bodegas. Magic was everywhere, worked into the cracks and crevices and hidden in plain sight by all manner of charms and wards, all of them clandestine and closely guarded by creatures meant to keep the two worlds apart.

Peggy led Steve to an old warehouse a few blocks from their neighbourhood and dragged her hand along the grimy bricks leading to the door. It groaned and swung open to admit them when they stepped close enough and they stepped inside to a bustling market filled with life and colour.

“S’ busy today,” Steve remarked yelling to be heard above the din of shoppers as they ducked and wove through the crowds heading towards the back of the building. Peggy laughed and grabbed his hand to keep him from getting separated from her.

“It’s almost Halloween,” she grinned, “Not everyone can be as maniacal about the holiday as you can I’m afraid, but some of us like to give it our best shot.” Steve laughed and allowed himself to be lead through the madness.

It was true he was something of a fanatic about Halloween, his classroom had already been decorated for weeks and he couldn’t carve any more pumpkins because he didn’t have room for them anywhere.

Every year he counted down the days, decorated his house and the school to the nines, and dressed up to pass out candy. He watched every special on TV and collected picture books to give to his students the whole month long. Peggy found his love of the holiday hilarious given their upbringing. Steve refused to feel even a little silly about it. Halloween was fun, it always had been.

They reached the back of the building where a heavy, wrought iron fence separated a garden of beautiful silk tents from the rest of the market and Peggy made straight for the gate of it.

A tall, burly man with a moustache was posted by the entrance as some sort of guard. He lounged there looking bored and didn’t seem concerned to see them heading towards him. Obviously this area of the market didn’t get much dangerous foot traffic.

 He gave Peggy a friendly nod and glared suspiciously at Steve as they walked through.

“Wait here,” Peggy said leaving him outside one of the tents and disappearing inside with his letter. Steve rocked back and forth on his heels and pretended to ignore the stares he was getting while he waited for her to return.

 “S’there a problem?” Steve asked aloud when he was sick of being openly stared at. A few of the mythics who had stopped to look at him seemed to realize what they’d been up to and darted away once they were called out. The rest left in their own time when they’d had their fill of staring.

Steve was used to this sort of reaction from mythics and looked them straight in the eye when they dared to make eye contact. His behavior in Mirrorside had gotten him and Peggy in all sorts of trouble over the years, but he refused to be intimidated by anyone. Magic or not he was witch-born and had as much a right to be here as anyone, even if he really didn’t want to be.

Eventually Peggy emerged from a tent a few yards away with two men trailing behind her. They were both dressed in Mirrorside military clothing, one in green and one in blue. The older man looked annoyed while the younger one trailed slightly behind and watched the proceedings with open, curious interest. Something about his presence seemed at bit out of place but before Steve could really think on it they drew up to him and Peggy handed him back his letter.

“Rogers?” asked the older of the two men.

“Yes Sir,” Steve replied feeling his pulse jump up. The man inspected him and sniffed loudly in a way that made it perfectly clear he found him wanting in several key areas; his younger companion glowered at him behind his back.

“I’m Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter says you want to request a right to speak with the council on your mother’s behalf,” said the colonel. Steve nodded.

“Yes sir,” he said, “With all due respect the council has voiced concerns with my actions, my mother hasn’t done anything wrong and I’m well above the age of majority on the Silverside where we reside.”

“Are you Silver son?” the colonel asked with a frown. Steve shrugged.

“Near enough,” he said wryly. “I teach elementary school there and this is my first time Mirrorside in…I don’t know, what d’you think, like, six years Peg?”

“Thereabouts,” Peggy replied, “You can see why these accusations against them are ludicrous-”

“That’s not for you to decide Agent,” the colonel cut in sharply. “Please escort your teeny friend upstairs and report back.”

“Yes sir,” Peggy sighed, “Come along then Steve.” She led him through the tents and up a flight of rusted stairs to the second floor of the warehouse where a series of old offices overlooked the market.

They had been converted into a sort of consulate and Steve was led through a squad of armed guards into a waiting area to sit while Peggy announced him.

“Y’nervous much?” he heard someone ask. Steve turned and saw that the young officer from downstairs had followed them up and was leaning in the doorframe grinning.

“Should I be?” he asked warily. The man shrugged and strolled in to sit next to him.

“Dunno,” he said, “Depends I guess; I mean, they ARE some of the most powerful mythics on Mirrorside. I’ve seen a lot of folks sitting where you’re sitting who wanted to piss their pants but you’re not even the slightest bit afraid.”

“I’m not huh?” Steve asked.

“Nope,” the soldier replied, “I know fear, and you’re not there yet. You’re worried about your mom and you’re annoyed that you had to come here in the first place, but fear? Not a drop in you. Now, some would argue that’s because you don’t really know what’s at stake here, but I don’t think so. You’d still be right here ready to go in if you were scared out of your mind wouldn’t you?” Steve looked him over, suddenly suspicious. The man winked at him in response.

This close to Halloween mythics in Mirrorside often wore domino masks in deference to some cultural tradition he wasn’t privy to. The soldier beside him was wearing one and it made it very difficult to guess what sort of creature he could be. He looked human enough from the part of his face he could see, but that didn’t actually mean much.

“Do I know you or something?” Steve asked deciding to be blunt. The officer laughed under his breath and brushed shoulders with him as he stood up.

“Don’t worry about that, let’s cut to the chase huh?” he said tilting his head towards the door. “There are wards in there that feed on fear. I wanted to warn you. You’re not scared now, but you will be, you’ll have to work through it. Keep your head on straight or you’ll start to feel guilty when you’ve got nothing to hide.” Steve blinked in surprise.

“You’re serious?” he asked. The soldier nodded.

“It goes against Code, but they don’t care and by the time you get out you’re too keyed up care,” he snorted, “It’s clever. We’re working on that, but until then the best I can give you is a heads up. Don’t trust anyone in there alright? They’re not exactly out for your best interests.” Steve nodded and man smiled.

“You’ll do fine Stevie,” he said strolling back towards the door, “Just don’t lose your temper.” Steve frowned and started to ask him where he was going when he heard Peggy call him through the other door. He turned towards her voice on instinct and felt a brush of cold wind on the back of his neck.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked as she stepped back into his little reception area. Steve looked back towards the other door and that saw his mystery officer had vanished between one blink and the next.

“There wa- uh, I’ll- uh, tell you later,” he said ignoring Peggy’s vexed look. “Am I up?”

“Yes, you are,” she sighed, “Try and keep civil and stick to bare facts but don’t let them speak for you alright? Good luck.” She hugged him tightly and ushered him towards the door.

Steve allowed himself to be pushed, his thoughts still preoccupied with the strange officer’s warning.

It wasn’t until he was walking down the darkened corridor to meet the council that it occurred that the mysterious officer had known his name.

 


End file.
